


Not Just Another Hangover

by Thymelady



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abbie cooks for a change, Abbie is hungover and horny, Abbie's POV, Awkwardness, F/M, Fade out to sex, Foreplay, Friends to Lovers, Hangover, Horniness, Ichabbie Forever, Ichabbie food is Ichabbie sex, Language, Light Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:30:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymelady/pseuds/Thymelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up hungover from making out with your roommate the night before will leave you hungry and horny. It's a truth universally acknowledged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Just Another Hangover

**Author's Note:**

> Nathyfaith wanted "more" from [Just Another Movie Night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6882487) that I wrote in May. Here's some more. ;) Since they saw a Jane Austen adaption in that fic, there's a heavy P&P reference in the beginning.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a pair of roommates that have long wanted to kiss will end up doing so while getting drunk and watching a silly movie. No matter how good the idea seems at the time, they will also inevitably end up falling asleep on the floor. 

That does, of course, mean that the roommates wake up on the floor as well. Usually, the one who isn't snoring wakes up first. On the other hand, the one who wakes up first usually does it draped on top of the snoring one, and they might just have drooled a little on the snoring one's shirt, an exact replica of an 18th century garment. 

The one draped on top of the other might just move enough in confusion and shame, feeling that both her hair and her whole being have been tousled into a tangle of emotions, long legs and a thundering headache. 

It is a small comfort that they are both still dressed... well, except that her bra is in fact unhooked in the the back and awkwardly pushed down. It is also a fact that the snoring individual has his large hand under her top, still holding one of her breasts in a firm but tender grip. 

As waves of embarrassment and lust wash over her, she starts to untangle herself from his arm around her. It's just enough to make her move her leg against his groin, where her thigh can feel that one part of him is definitely not asleep. Anything but. Holy mother of souls, as awake as can be! And stirring against her, just like his owner. Responding to her movements, that are intended to be innocent. 

The snoring turns into a muffled groan against her tousled hair. His own hair is still sporting the braids she made last night, even though her fingers have untangled some of them a great deal. He pulls her closer, nests her against him. Her heart pitter-patters and it makes her headache worse, but her body practically howls in response. 

Hangover, she decides. It's the hangover. Hers, and his. Tricky things. Betraying you almost as much as your drunkenness. Makes you want to do things you shouldn't want. Eat a lot. Drink again. Have more sex. Or have the sex that never happened the night before because of too much rum.

His hand squeezes her naked breast. There is a contented groan against her hair again, and when his long, graceful fingers lightly brush her nipple, well then it's just too much for her. She gasps and gets up, wringing out of his embrace. 

As Abbie quickly exits the scene, Ichabod is startled into waking up. He hastily sits up on the floor. 

"ATTENTIOOOON!" he shouts to imaginary soldiers, and the next moment: "Ooooowwww, my head..." as he buries his aching head in his hands. "Lieutenant..." he whispers hoarsely. 

But Abbie is already flying (or fleeing) upstairs. She bangs the door to her bedroom shut and leans against it, breathing quickly. It's her turn to hold her head; equal measures of headache and absolute dread. 

They hadn't. But they would have. Could have. Should have...? 

Abbie groans from pain, frustration and unfulfilled desires. She wants to go back down there. To him and his hands and his lips and his snake hips and his erection. She wants to ride him there, on the rug on the floor in front of the TV and with scattered chips and empty rum glasses. She doesn't need it to be romantic. He has romanced her enough. If she can just... be naked, astride on him, with his hands on her breasts or on her hips - or take turns - while she moves up and down on that hard, promising length she felt against her leg... 

Groaning again in frustration, she sinks to the floor. Downstairs, she can hear him starting to move around. He's probably stumbling; she hears a crash and his muffled voice saying what she suspects is a long, colourful curse. She wants to go down there and kiss him, tell him that everything will be alright - and then fuck him on the sofa. And yet, she doesn't ever want to go down and look him in the eyes again. She wants to...

More sounds. Not crashes, but things being dropped to the floor. Oh God, bless him - he's trying to clean up the mess from last night. He's just too adorable, even in that state. She wants to go down and help him and then beg him to take her on the kitchen table. 

She decides to brush her teeth first. She yelps when she sees her reflection in the mirror. She has crushed chips on one side of her big, tangled hair. The other side is flat with hair sticking straight up. The dark skin on her neck is sporting some pink marks... love bites. Her lips feel a bit raw and have probably been nibbled at as well. Wait - yes. She remembers. And she nibbled back, on several places on his neck. Abbie can see the blush spreading on her cheeks and feel it running through her body. All in all, she pretty much looks like she had gone all the way with him already. And slept on the floor. The last part is correct. 

Freshening up and forcing her unruly hair back with a headband, she changes and resolutely walks down. A cold shower would be better, but she won't leave all the mess to him. And she's so hungry. For food. Well, not _just_ food, but she is desperate to get some coffee and a big breakfast. 

The coffee machine is loaded when she comes down. The scent is both heaven and hell to her senses. Everything from the coffee table and around has been cleared away. A broken glass in the bin. The vacuum cleaner is still by the sofa, so Crane has already vacuumed while she freshened up, but not yet put it back. He's nowhere to be seen, so she suspects that he had to take care of his own needs. If he has a headache and used the vacuum, then she really feels sorry for him. She puts the vacuum away.

After drinking a full bottle of water from the fridge - so parched - Abbie takes out eggs, bacon, mushrooms, beens and tomatoes, deciding to make Crane's  favourite breakfast. She loads the toaster and gets busy at the stove. It hurts her head to concentrate, but it's distracting. She prepares a waffle batter, because she means business. 

When she turns to get something from the pantry, he's just standing there, a few feet behind her. 

She screams. 

He screams. 

Abbie nearly drops the bowl of batter in her hands, so Crane dives forward and stops it, cupping her hands and cornering her against the kitchen counter. 

For several seconds, they're staring at each other. Then Abbie shakes her head.

"You're such a CAT, Crane! Sneaking in..."

"Forgive me! Forgive me, Lieutenant!" he begs. His hands are still on hers, making sure the bowl isn't dropped. "It's my stealth... a hard habit to break." 

Abbie's eyes slide from his and to his neck. Yup. Love bites. Red and revealing ones. Also, their hands are touching. He's close, towering above her. She could climb up on him like a tree. 

She laughs nervously and turns around from him. She can't remember what she was doing. He's smelling of his soap and toothpaste. And the exposed skin on his chest was so close to her nose again just now; she knows how it tastes to kiss him there. She remembers. That's what she really wants for breakfast. Despite having her back turned, she can feel the exact distance to him from his body heat.

"Can you - " she starts.

"Yes?" 

"I need - uh."

"Anything!"

_Breakfast. Damn it. Focus, Mills!_

"Set the table, please?"

"At once, Lieutenant!"

"Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous!" he says with emphasis and gets busy. 

Abbie is relieved that he's not so close to her anymore. And she wants him back in her personal space again. Even closer. Him pressing against her backside, lips on her neck, hands over her body again, cupping her - 

She burns herself just slightly on a pan, biting back a curse so he won't notice. He'll come running with bandaid and concern, letting his finger flutter on her skin around the sensitive area around her injury, then be firm but tender as he'd see to her needs. What would his finger do on her really sensitive areas? Carefully teasing at first, then decisive and confident like Captain Crane of 1781? The tought alone is enough to raise her heat even further. She hastily stirs the food in the skillet, it probably seems like she's angry. 

"I'm sorry about the noise, Crane," she says. When did she become so nervous around him? Oh, right: as soon as she woke up on the floor - in his arms - this morning. "It was just... Do you have a headache? I sure do," she babbles. 

While she's finishing the cooking, he sets the table and takes out juice, yoghurt, butter and stuff from the pantry that she needed but forgot. He just knows what they need.

"Coffee and breakfast will cure all that, Lieutenant," he says warmly, and it's not helping her at all. Breakfast will help, that's true. But she needs more to sustain herself now that she _knows_ what his kisses are like. How his body feels against hers. How real they are together. 

They sit down and eat; he praises her cooking and they are both too hungry to talk for a long while. He makes an occasional 'Mmmm!' from enjoying the food and she nearly drops her fork. He doesn't notice her glare, his eyes are closed as he stuffs himself with eggs and tomatoes. 

"Ahh, I hope this is as good for you as it is for me, Lieutenant!" he smiles and slowly opens his eyes. 

_Oh, **hell** no._

He doesn't even know that it's an innuendo, she reminds herself. 

Abbie angrily eats her bacon and toast. She's finishing her coffee and before she has time to get up, Crane is fetching the coffee pot. 

He pours her coffee in that elegant way and smiles that smile she wants to think is just for her. As if he's saying: "I am just for you." Is he? 

She ventures to look up at him, meeting his eyes. Smile fading, he looks almost frozen by her look. But the high colour on his cheeks seems to indicate that he's anything but cold. 

Also, the coffee is hot and nearly spilling over. They both yelp and he steps back, returning the coffee pot to the coffee maker. 

"I - uh - I could have made you a cappuccino this morning, Lieutenant. If you'd wanted me to," he stammers and avoids her gaze. 

"I always want it," she blurts out and it comes out a bit more desperate than she intended. 

He looks up at her, startled. "I am sorry, I..." 

"No, no, Crane! This coffee is fine! Please! Sit down and finish your breakfast!" 

He doesn't look relaxed as he takes a seat again. Damn. Abbie wonders if he regrets what happened the night before. Then she remembers his hand on her boob, deft fingers even in his hungover sleep, and a hot wave crashes through her body. She moves on the chair, all hot and bothered. Her eyes land on his open shirt, travelling upwards to her lovebites on his neck. Her own neck grows hot and she rubs it absent-mindedly. 

"Oh..." slips out from his puckered, strawberry lips. 

"What?" she asks, looking around to see what upset him.

"It's... I just fear that..." He swallows heavily. 

"Fear what?"

"I have given you cause to feel... exposed. That was improper of me." His words end in a whisper.

"The love- the, uh, marks?" she mumbles, surprised that he brings up the subject. It's about being a gentleman, of course. Propriety. Double damn.

Meanwhile, he just nods and his neck is so red that his own love bites can't be seen. 

"I gave you some... marks as well, as I'm sure you remember," she says carefully. 

"I do," he says in a low voice.

"Is it such a horrible memory?" she asks. She meant it to sound as a joke, but it comes out very differently, as her voice breaks a little. 

His head snaps up. He stares at her, bewildered. 

"Absolutely not! On the contrary, it was - " and he arrests himself for a moment, but straightens his shoulders with determination. "It was better than all my dreams of kissing you, combined. And there have been many such dreams."

She can see that it took all his courage to finally own up to the truth. Now, the ball is in her court. She has been running for far too long. Abbie swallows and tries to find her voice. 

"Can we do it again?" 

He drops his fork, which he just nervously lifted. His jaw is slack in surprise. Enough is enough, Abbie thinks and she's quickly sliding off her chair and onto his lap, astride. His hands landing on her hips are automatic. The same talented hands gliding up, caressing her back, are not. They are deliberately waking her barely muted desire. When she gratefully sinks into him and claims his mouth again, all doubts are thrown to the wind; her raging lust is set free and fully met by his. 

Those incredibly beautiful and talented hands find their way up to cup her head and kiss her with abandon. Her body is pressed against his and his long arms are around her; just as it should be. Soon after, his hands shamelessly trail their way down again, slowly meting out her every delectable curve. One find its way back to her breast and her sensitive nipple is all anticipation.

She gasps and hisses, it's so good... so good. Better than last night. Better sober. The best will be when they're both naked. How soon can that happen? Resolutely, she pulls off her top and hopes he'll quickly help her with the bra. He stares at her, eyes dark with lust and lips still shiny from their kiss.

"Should we talk about last night?" he whispers hoarsely.

"Do we have to?" she asks earnestly. 

"Actions speak louder than words," he replies hurriedly and pulls her in for more hot, lingering kisses. 

His hands are touching direct skin now, and her mind is going _'yes yes yes'_. He proves that he remembers how to deal with her undergarments when he carefully unhooks it in the back. Her hips buck against him, feeling him growing hard, and she moans impatiently. 

As her bra comes off, their lips part for a moment. Still so close, she feels his puffs of breath on her face. He lightly kisses her lips as he lets her breasts come free, she helps him by lowering her arms and slip out from the confining garment. His fingertips land on her shoulders and starts to move the same time as his lips starts to move over her cheek and jaw. His palms warm her back as he's kissing and nibbling her throat. 

"Oh, yes yes!" she moans. "Ohh, Crane, please yes!" The rest is just inarticulate whimpers as his lips get more eager and his hands finally cup her breasts. She pulls him closer and his mouth catches her left nipple. She groans and arches her back, moving against him in a mix of pleasure and frustration. 

His palms span her thighs, then they firmly grab her ass possessively and push her against his hardness again while simultaneously licking her right nipple. She makes a low, long moan.

"My lovely Lieutenant," he mumbles over her puckered skin while his beard tickles and adds to the sensation. "Let me make you sing like that for the rest of the day..." 

"Yes... yes..." she mewls helplessly. 

He lifts her effortlessly and her legs close around those damn snake hips, kissing again and not breaking apart.

He's going to carry her upstairs. 

"The waffles..." she moans, more from surprise than anything.

"We'll need them," he mumbles into her. "Afterwards."

She believes him.

~The End~


End file.
